So far as the Surfer could tell, he was no longer breathing. There didn't seem to be anything to breathe for, or with. He could think (obviously) and now that he thought about it, he could also see, though only in one direction and through about 60 degress of arc. He wasn't sure he was using his eyes to do this, though. He felt he was seeing things more clearly than he used to. And there was no blinking.

He did seem to be looking out from the last place he'd left his head, near the head of his futon. He could see the west end of his bedroom: scrimshaw chest from another life, Mrs. Tucker's wing chair, some laundry he wouldn't be doing, and the TV. The TV was on.